WBY – Belated Beat Down or How John Winchester Got Grounded
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: Summary: Sometimes things just catch up with a kid. But John? There will be spanking in this fic. Don't like. Don't read.
WBY – Belated Beat Down or How John Winchester Got Grounded.

Characters: John and Dean Winchester

Summary: Sometimes things just catch up with a kid. There will be spanking in this fic. Don't like. Don't read.

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The lazy sprawl of John Winchester on the beat up sofa was unnerving.

It wasn't as if John hadn't been known to crash and burn hard after a long night and he certainly wasn't especially picky about his choice of sleeping area. The nasty couch, despite what it looked like was pretty damn comfy too. That being said, he was a sleeper or a doer, not really a loafer, particularly after the bomb he had just dropped.

"I know what you did..."

Honestly, who'd be that relaxed when springing something like that on his kid?

John Winchester might.

Dean tried to think, was the old man fishing for information or did he know something damming?

If so, would this be about Rhonda Hurley? How would he know he was seeing her though? And really, Rhonda was a kick and all but Dean was 16 and he had girlfriends. Dad sure as shit knew that. Of course, Rhonda well…she was Rhonda and sometimes that meant sneaking out for a little midnight make out. Yeah, yeah…the sneaking out was stupid but the making out wasn't and he'd never been caught. Not once.

Could it be about the fight at school in which he let Sam get hurt because he was upset after the little snitch called their dad just to mention offhandedly that Dean was still not home at 9:00 PM on a school night? Dad didn't care all that much about school nights but he did care about Dean watching out for Sam. Sam hadn't even gotten _that_ hurt, Dean would never have let the fight get out of hand but he surely hadn't stopped it. He had thought about it. Thought about stepping in and cleaning up for the little shit but Sam had to learn his way around a schoolyard without his big brother constantly watching his back.

The fight hadn't even been that bad, 'cause Sam really knew how to take care of himself. The other guy got the worst of the deal but Sam had walked away with a nasty black eye. Dean had kind of made it up back up to Sam anyway by not mentioning the fight to Dad. So…how could he have found out?

 _WatchoutforSammy. WatchoutforSammy._

What about watch out for Dean? Dean grumped to himself, especially after his father's statement "I know what you did..." which was so far out of left field it was in the damn parking lot.

Did the freaking principal managed to contact his father and mention those incompletes all over his mid-semester transcript? Who the heck cared about school anyway... well except goody two-shoes Sammy. Sammy might have said something because Sam was so very sure that Dean was throwing his academic life down the drain and for some reason it irritated the shit out of him. But Sam didn't know. Dean had John's signature down pat and all it took was a second to scrawl his name on the bottom of the interim report.

So between Dad's nonchalant attitude and the possibilities that flew through his mind in the space of a few seconds? It was a worry to a kid.

Best to play it free and easy.

"You don't say?" was the only clever response Dean could think of. After all he was his father's son and had been schooled at cool.

Two could play this game.

John Winchester coiled and then uncoiled his body on the couch, and yawned cat-like. He was wearing just a tee shirt and loose fitting jeans, his sock clad feet stretched and the old couch moaned with the effort of holding his father's shifting weight.

Suddenly, it occurred to Dean how deceptively strong his father's body was. He'd lived with the man all his life, he knew he was lean and fast and that there was muscle under those layers of flannel. He'd seen him in all various stages of undress – all the way to buck naked. He never really looked like leading-man-kind-of-guy. He was battle scarred, didn't have that ripped abs of steel that seemed to turn on girls. Or hey, even guys. But the truth was there wasn't a part of him that wasn't rock hard. When sparring, Dean had punched Dad's stomach with every ounce of his strength more than once. Dean could recount how every blow would send shock waves from his knuckles to his shoulder.

The man was a mountain of muscle. The crazy part was, he never really looked it.

Oh, he looked capable enough and when his father added the intimidation factor that was both trademark and fear inducing in equal measure, the recipient of potential violence was usually instinctively aware that the fight would not be an easy one.

But this Dad? He gave the impression of every other Sunday morning dad. All that was needed to complete the picture was a cup of coffee, a bathrobe and maybe the newspaper. Two of which were within reach so his father was not really off the mark.

Except he was - because John Winchester was not a Sunday morning dad. And it wasn't Sunday morning.

Dad sat up on the sofa and raked his hand through his hair. It stood up in wavy spikes. He quietly patted the cushion next to him expectantly.

Dean's brows rose to his hairline in question.

Dad patted again, a deceptively soft smile on his face, "Sit down with the old man, son."

It wasn't really phrased as an order, more a gentle suggestion.

Dean's pulse raced. Tachycardia – he thought randomly. Heart rate greater than a 100. Perfectly normal in a fight or flight situation. Purely physiological. Except there was no monster to fight or run from. Just this quiet, soft spoken version of his father.

Doppleganger – Dean thought and reached for the holy water in his flask.

"It's me. I'll be more than happy to drink it if you want. Or you can pour some in my hands but don't throw it in my face. Not quite awake yet and 'm not ready for a shower."

Dean handed the flask to John who took a swig and said, "Doesn't quite have the kick of old Number Seven but it's refreshing enough."

Dean's shoulders relaxed a bit. Then stiffened again. So it was Dad – that was good, he didn't want to gank someone who looked like Dad! Then again, he really didn't want Dad around right now either.

There was one more pat on the couch and Dean sidled over and sat down next to his father. Their combined weight caused the old couch to groan even more.

"So, kiddo. What do think of me and my parenting style?"

 _Okkaaay, didn't see that one coming._

"Huh?"

"You know…what's your impression? Easy-going? Tough? Push-over? Asshole?"

Dean could only blink owlishly.

"C'mon, Dean. Not really a tough question," John stated conversationally.

"Uh," Dean floundered, all trace of cool gone, "Uh…tough but fair?"

"Sounds like a question, son. Is it a question or a statement?"

"Uh, statement. Sir."

"I like to think that too," John mused and then thoughtfully scratched the four-day scruff on his chin.

"So, if I know what you did, then well, would say that I would handle it in a tough but fair manner. Correct?"

Dean shook his head. Not in denial but in the craziness of the entire last five minutes of his life. Maybe really the _last five minutes of his life_.

"Maybe?"

"Again with the uncertainty. I'm not quite sure what to make of that, Dean. You normally are a pretty level-headed kid. You usually know your own mind and you normally answer my questions pretty directly. I mean, that's just as a reference of course, you've been known to occasionally skirt a question you didn't really want to answer but this one seems pretty cut and dry to me."

His father leveled a gaze at Dean. Not harsh, but expectant.

"Yes, sir. Tough but fair and if I was found guilty of…well of anything big, I guess. Or even small. You would handle it tough but fair. I mean, usually if it's not really a big thing there wouldn't be big punishment for it."

"Hence the "but fair' part right?"

"Yes, sir."

"So if I was to find out, say last June, while you were grounded for a lack of self control when it comes to keeping your mouth shut, that you took the Impala without permission, managed to bang up her fender and then fix it before I came back…well you would understand that the tough but fair thing would be an expected outcome." John looped an arm around Dean with an affectionate squeeze

Dean stiffened suddenly. Very aware of the proximity of Dad and of the arm around his shoulders and the magnitude of what might happen. _What had happened._

"LAST JUNE! I didn't even have a real license last June!"

His father's eyes danced merrily, "And that would be another reason to check off an appropriate punishment."

"But…but…last June! Dad that's crazy! It's a done deal! I mean if it _even happened_ – it would be a done deal!"

"Now, that son, is where you are wrong. The deal's not done till I sign on the dotted line and unlike my actual signature, this is not something you can handle yourself."

Dean tried to jump off the couch but the "affectionate" arm was tight around his shoulders. Dean sadly realized that all his father really needed to do was push to the left and Dean would be perfectly positioned on his lap.

F _ess up Winchester. It's your only hope._

"Okay Dad...okay. So like if this happened, and I fixed everything and the Impala was as good as new, maybe even better because if I was working on her, you know I'd tune her up like no bodies business. And I'd detail her so hard that you could read the New York Times in her hood, well then…wouldn't it just be me being pro-active? I mean, handling it all before you came home and not asking for a penny for it. Resourcefully taking care of business so that you wouldn't have to? And I also remember you coming home with a sore shoulder, _right_ shoulder, I might add, so by me handling it the way I did just – well it just eliminated the problem. It eliminated all the problems. No damage to Baby. She was gleaming like she rolled off the line in Detroit! And…and I learned my lesson because hey, it wasn't easy doing all that under Bobby's radar. I mean, the guys like a freakin' micro managing machine when it comes to his yard. He knows what's going on every where under every rusty car and under every awning so if I was to do all of this. It was a miracle! It was a miracle and messing with miracles just doesn't seem right. Because, we are Winchesters and damn if miracles never come our way."

Dean realized he was babbling. That was never a good sign. Babbling was a step away from blubbering.

John sighed, "And your solving the problem negates the fact that you were grounded when took The Impala without my permission? Fixing the accident damage means that an accident didn't happen? Lying to Bobby and me – "

Dean interrupted, "I didn't lie! I just didn't say anything!"

John continued now with a trace of irritation in his voice, "Dean, you know damn well that it all was a lie. From beginning to end."

Dean's face reddened, a hot flame that he was quite sure was soon to match his ass.

Dad's face however, didn't soften and it was more the intense expectation that made Dean hold his gaze. He wanted to drop his head, wanted to toe the ground. All very childish and stupid and all things he'd done in the past. But he was sixteen, he wasn't a little kid and Dad wasn't letting him drop his head. Dean remembered as a child, John's fingers gently tipping up his head to meet his eyes. There were no fingers at his chin. Only steely brown eyes that wouldn't allow him to drop his gaze.

He didn't.

Dean drew his shoulders up, still feeling the weight of his father's arm over them and looked straight at John.

"Yes, sir."

"Exactly."

"So, where, how, and should I write a will out before hand?" Dean quipped.

"You don't have any thing to put in a will."

"I have my mix tapes," Dean suggested.

"They will still be here and so will you. Although, you won't be listening to them. Grounded. No car. No TV. No nothing. For an indeterminate an amount of time. And you'll be in your room for tonight. It won't matter because you'll want to be there anyway. On your bed. On your belly."

"I figured as much."

Dad gestured to his lap.

"Seriously?"

"I'm feeling a bit lazy today. Don't even want to get up to beat your ass so yeah, you're here, I'm here and my lap is here. So over, kiddo."

Dean groaned and leaned over his father's hard thighs.

Dad started on in his ass quick and fast, right over his jeans. Faded, old, very, very worn jeans. The sound was horrible. The pain was worse and his position over his father's lap was almost as bad. His nose was shoved into the couch and it was old and stinky. And every smack caused him to be pushed further into his father's lap and the corresponding protest from the couch was irritating as shit.

Dad grabbed his belt and hoisted his ass up a little more.

"YEOWW!"

"There ya go," Dad said smugly.

Only his father would sound so damn smug when Dean decided to verbalize just how shitty the situation was! I mean, he was hurting before, he was! Just because he wasn't howling didn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell.

"Dad! I got it!"

"Hardly. You took my car, Dean. While you were grounded. Without a license."

"But you taught me to drive by then! I'd been driving for years!"

That caused Dad to turn into a spanking machine. He nailed the tender curve between thigh and butt that had less padding and was the worse place to get whooped on.

"I taught you to drive because of the job, DEAN!" The word Dean was punctuated with such a sharp slap that it took Dean's breath away.

"I did not teach you to drive to steal my car. While grounded. Then crash it!"

Dean managed to howl, "FENDER BENDER, DAD!"

"Then lie about the whole damn thing and fix it!"

"But I did fix it!" Came Dean's strangled response.

John didn't even dignify that with a response he just added more strength to his hand. Over the lap spankings were his specialty, he could really get some swing strength, that and the broad span of his hand was usually more than enough to cause either Winchester boy to realize the severity of the situation. Dean was no exception.

He yelled at the top of his lungs, a bellow that reverberated through the couch. He was yelling into the damn couch, the damn stinking couch because his father's damn stinking hand was so stinking _hard._

"Sorry!" Dean half mumbled half yelled.

"What?"

"Sorry, Sir!" came the reply

That caused his father to stop whacking and to start chuckling.

"Sir? You thought I wanted a sir?" Dad asked.

Dean sobbed, "I don't know what you want! But 'sir' usually helps!"

John laughed then. A belly laugh that Dean could feel through his unfortunate position over his father's lap. Pretty soon his father's laughter started to hiccupping and an occasional wheeze that might have been him having a cardiac arrest.

Dean didn't know what to do. Should he try to get up? Start CPR? Should he just stay on his father's lap while he died right in front of him?

"Dad?" It was tentative.

John grabbed Dean by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off his lap and dumped him ass first on the couch. Dean yipped and the couch finally gave up the ghost. It shuddered, groaned one more time and then all four legs snapped and dropped straight down in a puff of dust.

That caused John to laugh even more.

"Dad? DAD? What part of this is funny?"

"Sir!" Dad laughed again. "And this damn couch. You…," Dad said and pointed his finger at Dean, "Go to your room. Grounded remember."

"Me too, I guess," Dad said as an afterthought.

Dean scrambled off the couch, rubbing his ass as he did so, "What did you say? – You're grounded?"

John leaned back onto the couch, stretched out and wiggled his toes, "Yup. I'm going to take a nap. Right here on the couch. On the ground."

Dean scowled but headed to his room, limping just a bit which was stupid because Dad hadn't nailed his legs at all. Maybe he was only to focus on one cheek before he went crazy and started laughing.

From the couch he heard his father still giggling, "And Dean. Don't ever touch my car without my permission again. Kudos though for fixing it so well I didn't know about it til now."

Dean stopped at his door, "How'd you find out anyway."

"'Cause I'm the Dad and I know everything. Remember that, kiddo."

"Got it." Dean said and crawled face first into the bed. He could hear his father's snores long before he fell asleep himself.


End file.
